


Waiting can be the same as Hoping

by ShadowDarkFlower



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Brotherhood, Challenge fic, Family, Gen, Hurt d'Artagnan, Mentions of War, Open Ending, Protective Inseparables
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6566833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowDarkFlower/pseuds/ShadowDarkFlower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Fete Des Mousquetaires challenge by KarriNeves on FF. </p>
<p>For Brothers, waiting can be the same as hoping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting can be the same as Hoping

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this. This can sort of take place in Season 3 I suppose, but as it's not out yet I don't think there will be spoilers. But, figured I'd say that just in case.
> 
> A huge Thanks goes to AZgirl for proof-reading and just generally being my encouragement. Hun, you rock!
> 
> Any other mistakes are my own.
> 
> This is written for the Fete Des Mousquetaires Wait and Hope April Challenge by KarriNeves. For more info on the challenge and judging, please see the forum page.
> 
> Enjoy!

_"Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worst kind of suffering." - Paulo Coelho_

* * *

Waiting.

None of them really liked waiting around, sitting on their backsides doing nothing. Being a soldier taught you to always be moving. Whether in battle, fighting for the life of your brother and your own, or at rest, keeping up the appearance of being put together.

People always assumed that if you're a soldier, dealing with the images ingrained in your mind and eyes, the sounds permanently pressed on your ears, the sensations always felt on your skin and soul, comes easier to you. You can bounce back, and be fine. Seeing the death and destruction, smelling the blood and the fear of your comrades, partners, _brothers,_ andhearing the screams and roars of the voices rising up to the sky with the clash of a sword, doesn't bother you.

But it does. You push it back to deal with it later, and maybe that can be construed as moving on to people on the outside who don't know what you're dealing with, but it always comes back to haunt you. Days, weeks, months, years later, but it does, and your left fumbling because no one's there to hold you up. Because everyone thought you were _fine._ And you get tired of being alone, of dealing with everything yourself.

But what's even worse than that, is seeing the trouble that your brothers are going through. Seeing a part of them wither and die and slowly poison them, and you don't know what to do to help, because you can't even help yourself.

And that's what they had been doing. The three of them watched as their brother fall apart. They watched as he slowly died inside and out. And what innocence that he had left disappeared, leaving him as this hardened shell of the man they knew. With each kill required to win the war, with each life spilled by his hand and sword, more of what made him, him disappeared.

That's what had them here. That's what led them to this point. Waiting here outside the tent their brother was being held in, waiting to hear if their brother would survive. Hoping that he would fight like hell to come back to them, even when they knew he had no more inside him.

Leaning shoulder to shoulder on the benches, hats in their hands, heads bowed with unspoken tears in their eyes, the Inseparables contemplated what had led them to this point in time, and what they'd have to do to get their lost one to fight back now.

If there _was_ anything they could do.

* * *

**_Then_ **

Aramis watched on silently from his spot by the fire pit as d'Artagnan stumbled out of the tent he was assigned to. He brought his cup of coffee up to his lips, grimacing at the bitter taste before turning his attention back to the youngest of their group. The young man had been acting increasingly odd as time went on, and hadn't mentioned a reason for it to any of them. And when questioned...well, it never went well. It always ended with the Gascon storming off and telling them off for acting like he was a child.

And maybe they were hovering a bit, but in their defense, what were they supposed to do? They couldn't let him continue with his increasingly erratic behavior in good conscience. But more than that, they were worried. They had never seen the fiery, stubborn young man act like this and to say they were disturbed by the recent change in attitude, was an understatement. Even Athos, the king of subtlety, has dropped his facade of nonchalance in favor of openly watching the young man in concern.

Treville had noticed the change as well. When he'd pulled them aside recently to ask what was going on, they'd been disheartened to have to tell him that d'Artagnan wasn't communicating with them anymore. Not unless it was necessary.

And they didn't know what they'd done, or hadn't done, to lose the trust that had built between them so thoroughly and so fast. Sure, leaving them in favor of going to hide in the Monastery probably hadn't won him any points, and had probably hurt more that anyone had said. But that was just him, not Athos and Porthos. So they wouldn't be clumped in with him over that action. So why?

Aramis took another sip of his rapidly cooling cup of liquid, as d'Artagnan walked over towards the fire as well, though he completely ignored the Spaniard. The Gascon poured himself a cup of coffee, taking a large sip while running his free hand through his long, dark hair. Aramis' eyes caught a glimpse of the trembling limb before it was hidden by grasping the mug with two hands. The Spaniard was about to question him about it, when Athos came walking up, already dressed and prepared for battle, Porthos only a few steps behind him.

"We've got suspicious movement by the northern point of the line. Aramis, you're needed there for scouting. d'Artagnan, I need you with Lebeau. You're going to ride out and meet up with the other camps. We don't have the manpower if the Spanish attack our borders here. Fredrick should send reinforcements with you back here."

d'Artagnan was the first to move in response. He nodded his assent before heading off to find Lebeau. Aramis' eyes tracked him until he got out of hearing range, then he spun around to glare at his brothers in disbelief.

"You're sending him out with Lebeau? Why not one of us? And Athos, surely you've noticed that he'd in no condition to ride out."

"I need you here as sniper and scout, and I'm needed here as leader. Lebeau is a competent soldier, Aramis. He'll be fine."

"What of Porthos?" The Spaniards eyes narrowed.

Athos sighed. He hadn't wanted to fight about this with Aramis, just like he hadn't wanted to send d'Artagnan out without one of them.

"Athos needs me here to help coordinate the movements of weaponry between stations. We wouldn't send the pup out without one of us if we didn't have to, you know that." The larger man spoke up, gently admonishing the Spaniard. He hadn't been happy with the decision either when told about it, but had seen that Athos was just as worried as he'd been and decided to let it go.

"He's not well enough to ride out, Athos. He can barely make himself stand and his hands are shaking. If he's sick like I suspect he is, sending him out with someone who is almost a complete stranger will do more harm than good."

"Aramis, you think I'm not worried as well? I am. But I have to worry about everyone here, not just d'Artagnan. And honestly, with how he's been acting recently, I don't think we're a welcome presence either." The former Comte, now turned Captain finally snapped. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a moment. "Look, there isn't another option here. We're all needed somewhere right now and I can't...I can't be the friend and protector I used to be right now, as much as I wish I could be."

"We can't let it go on like this. He's hurting and we have no idea why. We don't even know what we did. At some point, this is going to get too big to deal with, and we'll be left with nothing to hold onto. We've got to talk to him." Aramis stated. He didn't acknowledge that he agreed with, or even accepted Athos' choice, but from the look on his brother's face he knew the message had been received. He wasn't happy about it, not in the least, but he was willing to let it got for now.

"We will, I promise. When this portion of the war is over, and we're in a lull, we will clear things up. But right now, there's work to be done."

Aramis and Porthos nodded their assent. Athos held out a hand to pull the Spaniard to his feet, which he took gratefully. After Athos had walked off back in the direction of the command tent, Porthos laid a hand on Aramis' shoulder to stall his own movement to walk away.

"We'll fix this, 'Mis. I miss the lad too."

Aramis nodded, completely ignoring the tears gathering in his eyes and walked away, leaving Porthos to stare after him.

* * *

_**Now** _

They all jerked their heads up when the Doctor stepped through the flaps of the med tent and out into the open. The man's face was glistening with sweat and his salt and pepper hair was damp in places. Blood covered his front and he was wiping the last traces of the red liquid off of his hands with an already stained red towel. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, relaxing his shoulders a bit.

"I'm assuming you are all here for Monsieur d'Artagnan?"

The Inseperables nodded before standing in a loose circle around the doctor, trying not to crowd the exhausted man but desperate to hear news of their young brother. Aramis kept his hand clasped tightly around the crucifix that he wore around his neck, silently praying that the news would be good. Or, better at least.

"It was touch and go for a while, and I was sure we lost him at some points. I was able to get the wound cleaned up and stitched but he suffered from severe blood loss and trauma, plus what looks like malnutrition and and exhaustion, but with time and rest he should recover. Has he by any chance been suffering from maladie du pays? From I could tell the symptoms seem consistent."

The trio exchanged a glance. Eventually, after a silent conversation, Athos was the one to speak up.

"We didn't know, to be honest. d'Artagnan hasn't been speaking to us recently and lately he'd just been getting worse. We weren't sure what was going on."

"I see. Like I said, the symptoms seem consistent and it's really not surprising that he's been suffering with it. Many people get it when thrust into a situation like a war, or when they're forced to kill. A lot of times you'll see them drawing away from those they care about because they believe they are protecting them, or that they don't deserve them."

There was a pause of silence between the four and the Inseparables were getting anxious to see their missing member when the doctor spoke up again.

"I will give you a piece of advice, one that I've learned through many years of servicing soldiers. When one goes through something like your young friend has, it takes a toll on the body and mind. When he wakes up, it would be best if you make sure he knows that none of what he's done, or hasn't done, to survive makes you think less of him. Be there for him. That's all you can do really. Just make sure that he knows that, even with everything going on right now, namely the war and it's costs, he comes first to you. Even on those times when you can't always make the decision that shows it."

The trio nodded and thanked the doctor, before he excused himself to see to his other patients. The Inseparables stepped through the tent opening, and let out a sigh when they saw d'Artagnan laying on a bed.

The young man was completely still, other than the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he took precious air into his lungs. His normally darkened skin was pale from blood loss and most likely the pain caused by the wound in his side. As they stepped closer to his bed, they could see the gauntness in his cheeks showing his lack of nourishment and the dark circles that ran a ring around his eyes.

They all picked a spot to sit near the young man, wanting to be there when he awoke from the sedation. They all took the doctor's advice to heart, and began to figure out how to show their young friend that he was indeed loved.

* * *

_**Then** _

Gunshots. Gunshots coming from the direction in which d'Artagnan just rode off in.

Aramis wanted to join in the rush to see if d'Artagnan was alright, but being in the position of sniper left him little choice but to stay where he was. And he wasn't the only one; as their Captain, Athos was forced to stay behind as well. Fortunately, Porthos was able to go see what was going on. At least one of them was going to check on their little brother, they didn't need him believing they didn't care about him. Which is exactly what he would do, considering it's _them_ and they're all insecure children.

It was completely still in the woods Aramis was watching. No movement, other than the occasional rabbit or bird. If he listened closely enough, he might be able to hear the chirps of little chicks sitting in their cozy nest up high away from the rest of the world.

Aramis jumped when a hand gently patted his leg, having been so attuned to the woods that he'd just zoned everything else out. He turned his head to the side just enough to see Athos behind him, a concerned and pale countenance surrounding him. Immediately, Aramis knew something was wrong, so he slid out of his perch and dropped to his feet next to the older man.

"How bad is it?" The Spaniard quietly questioned. He almost didn't want to know, because it had to be bad for Athos to look at him with such devastation.

"Bad. Apparently, there was an ambush waiting for them along the route. From what we've gathered from the prisoners, they made a move up here to get us to send our fastest riders out. It was all just one big diversion."

Aramis laid a hand on Athos' shoulder, the guilt in his voice and posture clear as day.

"My friend, it wasn't your fault. Your actions were those made of a leader; well thought out and true. There was nothing you could have done. Let it go."

"That's just it, Aramis. It was my fault. You said something wasn't right with him, and I didn't listen. I let my own frustration with him affect my judgement. Aramis, it wasn't the bullets that did it, it was a sword. A sword, that had he been up to speed, wouldn't have gotten anywhere near him."

Aramis felt his heart clench. Not only for his injured brother, but also for the one standing before him.

"Athos, not everyone is perfect in fighting all the time. Today, d'Artagnan just happened to be off, and tomorrow could be me or Porthos or you. Not your fault."

It took a moment of warring within Athos before he finally assented, and laid his head on the Spaniards shoulder. Aramis allowed him the time to collect himself, before the anxiety over what could be happening overruled everything.

"Where is he being taken to?"

Athos straightened and a sense of control fell over him.

"Porthos was going with him to the Med tent on the south side, seeing as how that was closer. They should be there by now."

Aramis nodded and headed off in the direction of where his horse was tied to a tree not too far away. He swung himself up into the saddle and just barely was able to rein himself in enough to wait for the Captain before riding off.

* * *

_**Now** _

The sun was setting over the tops of the trees, casting eerie shadows across the ground and the tents posted there. A cool breeze was blowing through, giving the air a brisk bite to it, creating minor shivers throughout the soldiers stationed there.

The Inseparables hardly noticed the change, their attention solely focused on the young man lying unconscious in the bed before them. In the day that they'd been sitting by his side since he was out of emergency surgery, there had been a lot on contemplation, talking and planning being done between them.

This whole thing had showed them exactly how they'd failed their little brother. They'd all been so keen on keeping an eye on the war and helping each other deal with the recurring nightmares that all the fighting had brought up, that they hadn't thought about just how this was affecting their youngest, who was essentially just dumped onto a battlefield with zero mental preparation. And they could all attest to exactly how hard it was.

They'd set a plan in place for when the young Gascon awoke, and a goal they hoped to reach. Because while they might not have taken the time to pay attention to their brother's state, d'Artagnan hadn't come to them in his time of need like he should've. Instead, he buried it, until it festered and left him aching and raw. For whatever reason; whether he thought they didn't care or he thought he wasn't good enough, something was wrong and needed to be dealt with.

_If he would only wake up._

Logically, they all knew that his body needed the rest to recuperate, but seeing the usually hyperactive young man so still, well, it was disconcerting and concerning. As the hours went by, they all wondered whether or not he _would_ wake up.

Or if he was even trying.

The sun had long since set and all the soldiers other than the night watch were sequestered away in their tents, their bodies lulled into comfort by dreams of somewhere better than a battlefield. The Inseparables were scattered in various positions around one bed, hats over their faces to block out what light was being thrown out by the lamps set up for the doctor.

Briefly, a lone finger on the left hand of the one lying still on the bed twitched, waking the brother who'd been holding it. Porthos scrubbed at his eyes, unsure of what woke him, when suddenly the hand in his grasp was actually _moving,_ not just light twitching. A grin spread out across the large man's face and he gently shook the man at his side awake.

"'Mis. 'Mis, wake up. He's comin' around."

Once he heard that, Aramis was up and moving to the top of the bed by the Gascon's face. He pulled the blankets back slightly to check the wound at his side, before sliding his gaze back up to the young man's face.

"d'Artagnan, can you hear me? Come on, wake up now. You've had us worried you know."

But there was no movement, other than his head rolling to the opposite side, now facing Athos. Whom the other two just realized was awake and watching closely for any signs of activity.

"Well, he moved. That's a good sign. His body is probably not done catching up on the rest it has lost. I'd feel better if he woke up though." Aramis explained, before grumbling and moving back to his spot by the bed. Athos just shook his head and gave a slight smile.

"Maybe. But at least now we know he'll wake up and we can talk. So, there's hope."

The Inseparables settled in for the duration. Because with Brothers, waiting for a sign can be the same as hoping.

~finish

**Author's Note:**

> Maladie du pays- literally means "homesickness" (thanks AZgirl) and is one of the terms that they would've used for PTSD


End file.
